High School of the Dead: American Requiem
by Homura Kagari
Summary: At the same time as the Outbreak in Japan, another group of highschoolers in America were battling for their own lives. This is their story.
1. Brandt: The Infection

(Disclaimer for the Entire Story: I make no claim to the High School of the Dead franchise, universe, or any of its characters. Any of my own characters in this story belong solely to me, and I reserve all the rights to them.)

**Chapter Zero: Brandt – _The Infection_**

First, if you're reading this, you're one of the few still left alive. Why the heck you're reading at a time like this, I have no idea, but it's nice to know that someone will know what happened.

The night before everything ended . . . I stayed up late. It's strange, despite the chaos of that first day, I remember everything as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Megan says it has to do with the effect stress has on the brain or something. All I know is that if we ever get out of here, I am so coming down with PTSD. We never thought it could get this bad, or that this is what America'd become. To be honest, I don't think anybody did. You go through all those safety drills – fire drills, earthquake safety, lockdown practices – but no one ever tells you what to do in case of an Outbreak. Kinda wish they had. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My name is Brandt Marks. I wanted to write that. Make sure _someone_ out there knows my name, that 'I was here.' Has to mean something, you know?

I'm a senior, as if that means anything anymore. Before the first Infection, I went to Westlake High, the only public school renowned for its inability to beat almost any other school in sports.

In was the middle of October when it started. You know, that time of year before Halloween, where every mall, supermarket, and thrift store gets ready to run the gauntlet that is the holiday season from October to December. I remember seeing one store setting up Christmas lawn art before Halloween so that early shoppers could pick up an inflatable Santa or a Rudolf with a glowing nose. Honestly, I'll consider myself fortunate to live till Christmas this year, and if I do, I'm more likely to get a box of ammo than the new X-box game. If they even make X-box games anymore. And if _anything_ comes down my chimney, I'm fukcin blowing it to kingdom come. That's Rule 1: No taking chances.

Anyway, I'd just caught a ride from Megan Bennett to get to school. The Bennetts lived a very long way from school, so far they took them an hour and a half to make it on time. Luckily her Mom was awesome and gave me rides whenever I needed a pickup. Megan was that sort of girl-next-door type; insufferably cute, petite, with brown eyes set in a fox-like face, framed by chestnut hair with blond highlights set off by her permanent tan, which was quite the accomplishment for someone living in Seattle, the rainiest city in the world.

Waving goodbye to her mom, Megan and I trooped off to our first class together – English, taught by the dreaded Mrs. Barness. Imagine an overweight troll in flowered print, with a grey-brown bun perched on its head, and you'd have Mrs. Barness to a T. Her one blessing was her amazing inaccuracy at predicting the weather. The school saying was that if Mrs. Barness said it wouldn't happen, you'd see the weather change before the end of the day, as if it just wanted the spite her. The last time she told us it wouldn't snow, we got a week off due to a near-blizzard (by Seattle standards anyway) and the power went out for a week.

We were halfway through some essay on the magnitude of feminism in _Jane Eyre_, when the loudspeaker crackled into life.

_All teachers are to begin lockdown procedures. This is a drill. We will be conducting random sweeps to ensure all procedures are being met. Students will please sit silently in the locked classrooms, away from the doors and windows, with the lights off. Again, this is a drill._

Moving quickly for someone her size, Mrs. Barness motioned for everyone to do as instructed, half-jogging-half-waddling over to the one classroom door to lock it shut. Immediately, the class began to do exactly what any group of middle-class American teens would do in that situation, disobey instructions. Laughing and joking, the class made its way to the back of the room, grateful for the excuse to quit the essay. The only one who wasn't acting as if this was no big deal was Megan, who was already sitting against the cabinets, her eyes drifting between Mrs. Barness and the door. As Barness tried to quiet the others down, I slumped down next to Megan, having to wave my hand to get her attention.

"Hey, what's up? I know you're the only one who actually studied for the test, but you could at least be a little happy for a break"

Taking only and instant to look in my direction, Megan shifted her focus back to the door, her eyebrows creasing as she stared at the three-inch wooden barrier. "They send out emails to the parents every time they have a drill planned, so no parent comes into the building during a practice evacuation and panics that he can't find his kid. Mom always tells us when there's one scheduled, so we know beforehand." Looking him straight in the eye, Megan said "There was no drill set for today. That's why Mrs. Barness is acting nervous, she knows something is wrong."

Shrugging, I tried not to imagine some druggie with a gun staggering through the halls, and said "It's probably nothing. Maybe your mom forgot or didn't get the email. And even if there is a reason, it's not a big deal. The last lockdown we had was because someone dressed all in black walked too close to the school. Turned out it was a frat boy dressed as a ninja who'd gotten lost on his way to a party. Plus, the doors here are thicker than most walls. No one's getting through here."

Of course, that was the moment something decided to ram, very heavily, and very solidly, into the classroom door.

Shrieking, half of the girls jumped against the nearest wall, half of the guys quickly following suit. Mrs. Barness herself huddled into a corner, all semblance of control lost. Whatever it was hit the door again, and again, slamming into the door in an almost rhythmic fashion. The door shuddered under the pressure of the blows, shaking in its frame. Finally, the wood around the lock broke, and the door flew open, the creak of the hinges swallowed by the shrieks of the class.

The first thing I remember thinking was 'What is that smell?' There's a particular odor to an Infected, a combination of old barf, urine, and rot. The thing walked into the room, dragging its left leg as if injured. Seeing an opening, I did the first thing that came to mind – I hit it with a chair.

First, I want to say it wasn't as stupid as it sounded. I mean, you hear about crazy people coming into schools periodically and shooting up classrooms. Adults always talk about the kids who lie down and play dead – the ones who are smart enough to not get killed. I dunno, I just always felt that if someone had done something right off the bat, if someone had a chance to get behind the guy and take him out, they should have. I mean, I was right next to the door, and there was no way anyone could have seen me in the low light. So I grabbed the nearest metal chair, and smashed him over the back with it.

"Brandt!" exclaimed Mrs. Barness in shocked tones, relief warring with horror on her face. I dropped the chair, seeing the blood running down the length of the leg. The guys started crowding me when one of the girls shrieked again. Grabbing chairs as if to copy me, the guys got ready to swing at the next target, wanting to join in what they saw as heroics, but nothing had come through the door. Following the pointing finger of the screaming girl, we all saw what had scared her, and nearly screamed too.

The guy I'd hit was getting back up.

Now I like to think of myself as being a rational and calm person who acts cool under pressure, but I can honestly say that freaked me out. Seeing a guy get up, a huge break in its spine where the chair had hit him, drool and blood pooling along his face, and a huge gaping hole in his neck where it looked like someone had bit him, I was pretty freaked. Then, the thing runs forward and takes a bite out if Mrs. Barness. Oddly enough, people die really quickly if you take a chunk out of their neck. She went out with this odd look on her face – not scared, just . . . surprised I guess. Still, not even _she _deserved to out that way. I remember hearing the girls (and half the guys) screaming and running out the door like lemmings off a cliff. The fact that Mrs. Barness then got up and started coming towards us probably didn't help either. Her skin had gone all grey, her eyes misting over and foam and blood running from her mouth. The gaping wound from her neck oozed blood, slowly, as her heart stopped beating. At a certain point, your body just floods with adrenaline and you do things on instinct that you wouldn't or couldn't do normally. That's the state I was in right then. So were all the guys standing near to me, what with having seen me break the creep's back and then have him stand back up, bite the teacher, and start lurching towards us. So, logically, we all did what any normal people would do in that situation – every guy who could grab one hit him with a chair. Okay, we weren't thinking clearly, but hey, it kinda worked.

Anyway, I think we broke most of the bones in the thing's body, 'cause it was still moving and all, but it was having a lot of trouble getting more than a few inches. Someone, it might have been me, got in a lucky blow to Mrs. Barness's skull, and she collapsed. Still, considering that the first one _still _wasn't dead, we all . . . well . . . we screamed like little girls and ran like shit. Not something I'm proud of. Halfway through the door, I hear Megan shriek. Turning, I see the original grabbing her leg, pulling himself forward, his mouth opening and closing. Grabbing the fire extinguisher from the side of the room, I brought it as hard as I could down onto the thing's head, crushing it like an over sized grape. Grabbing Megan by the arm, we bolted for the nearest staircase, and ran into a mass of people trying to get out the same way. Even over the noise in the hall, we could hear the announcements going, "Attention all students and teachers! There is a violent struggle occurring on the school grounds. Students are to stay with their teachers and follow their instructions. I repeat, there is a violent struggle occurring on campus groun . . . Wait. What are you doing? Oh God, no! NOOOOO! Ahhhhh! Help meee . . . ." Shocked, the mass of people froze at the screams, sudden realization of what was going on dawning on everyone. Hearing screams from below, everyone tried to force their way back up, pushing us ahead of them as wave upon wave of panicked high schoolers and staff roared past us. Seeing one of the janitor's doors that led to the roof of the school, we ducked in there, locking the door behind us, and climbed a ladder up to a hatch that led onto the roof. Helping Megan out, I looked around; trying to see what was going on.

Smoke was rising from all over the place as screams echoed across the school grounds. I looked over at the soccer field just in time to see three of those 'things' jump onto Mr. Geldwin, the P.E. teacher. Watching in horror, I saw as one of 'them' bit him and he screamed, blood pooling from the wound in his neck, until he collapsed, dead. And then, he got up and started wandering towards the school.

"What's going on?" shrieked Megan as Mr. Geldwin, or what used to be him anyway, joined a group of 'them' moving towards the school. Screams erupted as 'they' fell onto students. Megan and I stood up there, safe, as we watched them turn whoever they caught into monsters just like them. Within minutes, hundreds of those things were wandering the school grounds, looking for anyone stupid enough to give themselves away. Looking at each other, we knew there was only one thing they could be, yet neither of us said it. We just stood there, hoping against hope that if we just didn't say it, they'd all go away. To be straight though, I'd guessed what they were as soon as they first one had stood back up – zombies. I mean, there are thousands of movies about zombies, but they never seemed as bad as this. Maybe it was the smell, the rancid waft of rotting flesh that did it, or the way they tore strips of flesh from the bodies of their victims. Whatever it was, there was no sign of it ending any time soon. And we were stuck, on a roof, with no food, water, or shelter. Yeah, we were screwed.

Flipping open my cell phone, I dialed 911, only to get a computerized message that "_This is a recording. We at the 911 emergency line are held up at the moment. If after calling again, we still can't receive you call, please wait and call again later. Again, this is a recording . . . ._" Swearing, I tried calling anyone I could, but none of my calls went through. Heck, anyone who could still answer their phones was probably too busy to bother.

"You get anyone?" asked Megan, who had her own cell held up to the side of her head.

"No. Not even 911 is answering. Everyone and their dog has to be calling them about the fact the dead are getting up and walking. You?"

"I'm trying to get through to my mom. She works from home, she might not even know what's going on yet." Looking down at her phone, she scowled and clicked it shut, "There's no bars anymore. Either someone ran into a cell tower trying to get away from those things, or they're managed to take over a power plant. What now?"

Collapsing onto the roof, I stared up at the sky. For the end of the world, it was sunny and clear without a cloud in the sky. Considering how often it rains here, the chances of it being sunny on the day a zombie plague breaks out were about as high as the Mariners winning the World Series. Almost as if someone up there wanted to make sure we got to see the whole thing. Basically one giant middle finger straight from God. Great. "We need to think," I said, half-hoping that if I said it aloud, it'd get a little easier, "We're being attack by zombies. We're stuck on the roof of the school, with no food, water, or electricity."

Grabbing Megan's hand, I dragged her across the roof, moving towards the other end of the school.

"What are you doing?" she asked, only a slight crack in her voice indicating how scared she must have been.

"We can't stay up here forever," I answered, "We need to get the heck out of here and find out what's going on. That, or find some food and a better place to hide." Jumping down from a three foot ledge, we made our way across the roof of the main hall to the top of the lunch room. Carefully stepping onto the curved dome, we slowly made our way cross the metal girding, crawling for fear of falling to our deaths. We finally made it to a flat section again, managing to make it all the way to the auxiliary building. Clambering over the roof, I looked up in time to see a flight of jets streak off towards downtown. As I watched them streak overhead, I wondered – what was the rest of the world doing right now? Probably trying to figure out how to nuke each other. Climbing down another ladder, we made it into another Janitor's closet. Peeking out from behind the door, we found the hallway deserted. Moving as quietly as possible, we moved down the hall towards the shop class. I mean, come on. During a zombie attack, where better to go than the one room filled with sharp implements and power tools? We'd made it about five feet down the hall before we heard rustling behind us. Breaking into a run, we heard them coming after us as we bolted for the door. Finding it unlocked, we dived inside, slamming the door shut behind us, only to find that it didn't lock without a key. We were royally screwed.

Our world as we knew it has been completely destroyed.


	2. Adam: The Outbreak

_(Author's note: In order to avoid some confusion and questions from readers, this story is written from multiple points of view and the style of writing for each character will differ somewhat. Also, be warned that I just watched Zombieland (great movie), so that might have some influence on the piece)_

**Chapter One: Adam – **_**The Outbreak**_

Adam faced down his opponent, the slits in his helmet allowing him a full range of vision. Raising his _shinai_, he stepped forward, shifting his weight slightly as he altered his stance. His opponent assumed his own starting stance, lifting his two, much shorter bamboo sticks into a balanced position. For a moment, neither moved, both combatants staring into each other's eyes, looking for any twitch, any indication of the other's intention. As if suddenly released from bindings, the two attacked, Adam feeling his _shinai_ strike his opponent's weapon before twirling away to avoid his second stick. The other young man twisted his body in a spin kick, his legs angled directly for Adam's head. Dropping, Adam let them pass harmlessly over his head, snapping his _shinai_towards his opponent's throat. Flipping backwards, the young man dodged his attack, landing lightly on his feet before whirling to attack Adam, his sticks and his feet twirling to attack, striking with all four limbs. Adam leapt backwards, dodging the legs, blocking the sticks with his own, using his opponent's momentum from the blows to turn himself around, slamming the hilt of his _shinai_ into the other man's chest plate. Driven backwards, the other man seemed as if about to fall, before flipping into a bicycle kick, his foot slamming into Adam's guard. The two backed away slowly, circling each other like caged tigers, their eyes revealing nothing apart from their enjoyment of the fight.

The two swung into motion, Adam's swing landing against both of the other's sticks, then kicking out to propel the other man backwards. Matching him kick-for-kick, his opponent grinned as Adam stepped into his domain. Catching Adam's leg under one of his own, he slammed one of his sticks towards Adam's head, aiming to land the decisive blow that would end the bout. Relaxing his balance, Adam allowed his weight to pull them both over, slamming them into the mat and causing the man's blow to miss. Rolling away, the twin user moved to put distance between himself and Adam, only to have Adam chase him down, his _shinai_ slamming into the floor where the man had been. Leaping upwards, he sliced down with his twin sticks, landing onto Adam's guard, and giving momentum to Adam's return swing as Adam pivoted, his body giving extra momentum to his strike as he sliced through where his opponent's eyes would have been, smiling at the resounding crack as bamboo sword struck metal.

Off balanced by the blow, Adam's opponent staggered slightly, still remaining able to hold his second stick directly at Adam's throat, where it had landed as Adam's blow struck. Lowering their weapons, the two backed away, before pulling off their helmets. Undoing the knots that held the heavy metal face guard to his head, Adam Russell removed the bandanna that kept his shoulder-length blond hair in check, placing the helmet on the ground before tying his mane back into its standard ponytail, his bangs still dangling slightly from his sweat-soaked forehead. Blue eyes met grey as his opponent removed his mask, revealing the face of his opponent – that of his friend and rival, Daniel Carreiro. The two made an odd pair, similar only in their relative height, Adam's long blond hair and ice-blue eyes contrasted sharply with Daniel's moderate black hair and steel-grey ones. Even their forms differed – Adam possessing more solid muscle while Daniel was whip-cord lean and hard. The two bowed each other off the mat before turning to their audience, who had begun to clap.

"And _that_ is our demonstration of a Japanese _kō-ryu_ paired against Brazilian _capoeira_," Adam said, still breathing slightly heavily, "This goes to show that no one style of martial art is better than any other, that the winner of any match is determined not by his discipline, but by his experience, dedication, and condition. As such, today I'll be running the class, and we'll be working through some of the _kata_you should have been practicing." Despite the chagrined looks on some of the group member's faces, Adam was proud of the club members. He and Daniel had seen the nonexistent amount of communication between martial arts communities at the University of Washington, and had decided to start a club for those who wished to explore cross-disciplinary techniques. The aptly named Martial Arts Club had been a huge success, drawing on students from all martial arts disciplines and from those who were simply interested. By having each member with training register to teach at least one session a quarter, each student was both master and pupil, learning of new styles from others and teaching their own to the rest. The special Friday 'Weapons Class' had also been an instant hit with such sessions as 'Katana vs. Longsword,' 'Chinese Straighfft Sword: Kung fu, Tai chi, and Wushu,' and 'Polearm Night: Naginata, Halberd, and Spear.' Some of the Drama majors had also shown up for instruction on techniques for fight scenes, and had walked away with fight trainers and choreographers.

Hearing a roar outside the window, they turned in time to see a fighter jet buzz the IMA. Moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows, the group watched as the jet was joined by two others, streaking off towards the center of downtown Seattle, the Stars-and-Stripes clearly visible beneath their wings. Looking over at Daniel, Adam cocked one eyebrow, to which Daniel shrugged noncommittally, the two having known each other long enough to communicate their lack of understanding. Staring upwards, they watched as the jet trails slowly dissipated, the roar of the engines fading into silence.

Getting back to practice, the group formed ranks and was halfway through the first set of moves when the loudspeaker blazed throughout the room. "_Attention please. We have reports of an apparent armed intruder near the building. As such we are beginning lockdown procedures. All people currently in the building are advised to remain calm and remain in the building until further notice_."

Gesturing to Daniel as the group began to splinter, talking about the strange announcement; Adam asked "You think that had something to do with the jets?"

Daniel shrugged, his eyes, half-lidded, showing his disinterest, "Probably has nothing to do with it. Some guy with a squirt gun probably walked by the building. You know how on edge everyone is after the Virginia Tech shooting."

"Hey everyone, look over here!" called one of the freshmen. Rushing to the window, the club stared out, looking down to see a disheveled young man staggering towards the IMA. As they watched, three security officers rushed from the building to intercept the young man. Taking his arm, one of the officers tried to lead him away from the building, while the other two stood back, ready in case of any problems. As the group watched, the young man wrenched out of the officer's grip, proceeding to bite deeply into the man's arm. Shouting, the other two officers drew their guns, yelling for the kid to stop as the officer whose arm was being bitten of screamed for them to 'shoot the fucker.'

Finally deciding they couldn't get through to the homicidal maniac, they fired, careful to avoid their partner, to no effect. Finally, one of them managed to shoot the kid in the face, forcing him to let their partner go, crumpling to the sidewalk from then force of the blow. Watching in horror, Adam watched as the officers rushed to their wounded partner, only to have him collapse to the ground, coughing blood as he fell to the ground, unmoving. Shocked, some of the members backed away from the window, hands closed over their mouths, only to shriek as the dead cop got up and charged the other two. Biting one, the two then turned on the other, biting him before all three staggered towards the building, following the scent of human blood.

Meeting Daniel's gaze, the two nodded before splitting, Adam moving to the center of the room while Daniel moved to the door, looking to see what was going on outside. Raising his voice to quiet the group, Adam spoke "Alright everyone. Whatever just happened, we need to move. Obviously, something is wrong, and honestly, I want to get the fuck out of here. So," Adam grimaced, knowing how badly this could end, "We are going to do exactly that which I have said never to do. Grab your gear and get your weapons out. Just in case something happens. Just in case. However, we're going to wait to see if anything happens. If nothing's been done in the next, say, two hours, we get out of here."

"Uh, you're going to want to take a look at this," called Daniel from the windows, "Your plan may need a little changing."

Moving over to the windows, Adam scanned the ground and swore. Beneath the building stood tens of people, staggering around aimlessly and attacking anyone who got close enough, forcing them to join the mass. Smoke was rising from the city in the distance, and fire could be seen raging through the University Village, spreading to the Barnes n' Noble and QFC. Smiling wryly, Daniel asked "You remember seeing _Zombieland_ last week?"

Adam glared sidelong at his long-time friend, daring him to say they were being attacked by zombies. "Okay, change of plan. We're getting the fuck out of here _now._" Grabbing his _bokken_, Adam moved towards the doors, seeing the others do the same, their shock at the day's events causing them to be glad to follow someone who seemed to know what to do. Adam only hoped he didn't screw this up. Daniel followed close behind, his sparring sticks already in hand, shin guards strapped on over his jeans. "Where're we going?"

Adam froze, stopping at the top of the stairs that led down to the ground floor. "We need to get somewhere with food, or somewhere we can get weapons we can use from a distance."

Daniel grimaced, "The U-village is out. There won't be much more left there anyway."

Adam nodded, "There's McMahon, Hagerty and the HUB – which all have food courts – and By George, and McCarty, which have stores of food and drinks. By George is across from Red Square, which will be full of those things, McMahon, Hagerty, and the HUB won't have food we could keep. That leaves McCarty."

"And how the hell do we get up there?"

"How many people do we have?" Adam asked, looking down the stairwell to make sure none of the _things_ were climbing up at them.

Turning his head behind them, Daniel counted off, "Bout fifteen, no sixteen. And each one's got something they can hit with."

"Think we could jack a bus?"

"You know how?"

"I thought you did."

Staring deadpan at Adam, Daniel frowned deeply, "Man, that's not cool. Just 'cause I'm Brazilian, that doesn't mean I know how to hijack a car. Next you'll be saying I've had sex with hundreds of women and got drunk when I was four."

Raising his eyebrows, Adam glared back, "_You_were the one who hotwired Mrs. Barness' car last year so we could move it into the auditorium before we saran-wrapped it. And _you're_ the one who brags about those things. Which no one believes, by the way."

"Yeah, well. Fine," Daniel trailed off, "I probably _could_ hijack a bus."

"Okay then," turning to the group, Adam continued, "Here's the plan. We get out to a bus, Daniel hotwires it, we get up to the McCarty dorms, and . . . and we figure out what next from there."

His short speech garnering nods and general, if confused and shaky, assent, Adam pointed down the stairs, reminding everyone to make as little noise as possible.

"I'll take point," Daniel said straight-faced, edging down the staircase while looking like some video-game avatar from a Rainbow Six game.

Adam snorted, following close behind, "You've just always wanted an excuse to say that."

Coming around the corner, Adam raised his hand to keep the rest of the group from following. Peeking out from the railing, the two looked into the fluorescently-lit lobby, seeing only a few of the _things_ wandering around aimlessly, searching for a sign of life. Gesturing the others forward, they moved down the linoleum steps silently, staying out of both sight and hearing. Stepping slowly, they moved along the wall, careful not to make a sound . . . before someone sneezed. Suddenly, every one of _them_ in the room charged, rushing towards the sound of their prey. Swearing, Adam and Daniel slid forward, slamming their practice weapons into the heads of the nearest corpses. Without pausing, the two continued, their wooden weapons crushing skulls as they charged. Adam simply strode forwards, his _bokken _making white arcs through the air as it smashed head after head. Flipping around, Daniel slammed his sticks into two of the _things_, their heads crunching under the force of the blow, letting the momentum pull him into a spin kick that sent one of _them_flying backwards. Another one ran towards them, only to crash into the turnstile and fly forward onto its face, where Adam crushed its head in mercy. Running forwards, the group continued through the lobby, Daniel and Adam acting as the vanguard, the others pushing back any of _them_ that managed to make it past the two experts.

Clearing the room, they group made it to the double front doors, two members from the kendo club watching the back, their _bokken_ raised to strike. Gazing through the tinted glass, Adam looked out into the clear, sunny day, seeing the number of _them_ between the students and the parking lot. Turning back to the group, Adam shook his head. "There's about thirty of them out there. I'm not risking it until we can get rid of some of them."

Moving over to the nearby café stand, Daniel began to grab as much as he could stuff into his duffel from the shelves of the small store, smashing the head of the infected barista when she popped out from behind the counter. Shoving cereal bars and yogurts into his bag, Daniel shouted to the rest of the group, "In the meantime, we should find anything we can use and grab it. Food, tools, anything." Going back to his scavenging, Daniel began to shove wrapped sandwiches into the bag, transferring as much of their stock as could to his duffel."

Turning back to the group, Adam nodded, trying to keep them as calm as possible. "We can't go anywhere until we figure out how to get rid of _them_, at least for a while. So in the meantime, try to find anything you think might be useful. Make sure you travel in groups no smaller than three. Watch each other's backs. Check your watches, meet back here in ten minutes." Too shocked to argue, the group splintered into groups, some staying to watch the exits, in case the _things_ found a way in. Adam turned to Daniel, speaking in hushed tones, "We need to figure how to get them away from the entrance. Any ideas?"

"Why did _they_ attack that time?" he asked, pushing one last sandwich into the bag, "If we can figure what _they_ go after, we may be able to distract them."

"_They_ came after they heard that guy sneeze. So maybe they go after noise mostly?" Adam suggested, jumping the counter to look behind the bar. Opening one drawer, he found packages of cookies stacked next to a pile of empty cups. Dumping them into his own bag, he continued to rummage while he tried to think of a way to make a noise loud enough to distract the _things_.

"How about a car alarm?" asked Daniel, having moved behind the counter himself and begun messing with the coffee machines. "We throw a rock through a window or something, the alarm goes off, they move towards it, and we get the hell out."

"You wanna try to throw that far?" Adam drawled, stuffing a bag of bagels on top of the cookies, "You'd have to make it through them, and then hit a car even further away. No one could make that."

"What if we had . . . ah, there we go," Daniel broke off as he managed to get the machine to work, grabbing paper cups from the side as he began to mix coffee, "That's better. Anyway, what if we had something we could hit a car with from further away?"

"The rest of the levels here could be infected too; we haven't seen anyone else since we got down here. It'd have to be something that could launch over an distance in an arc, so it would come down on top of a car."

Snapping their heads around to face each other, the two came to the idea at once, "The Archery Club!" Dumping the bags of food, the two grabbed their weapons and, warning the remaining students to be on lookout, descended the stairs down to the lower level. Coming around a corner, they moved past the gym usually used for Roller Disco, only to see it completely overrun by _them_, some of the students having been attacked while still wearing skates, the _things_ slid around off balance, falling each time they tried to get to their feet. The whole scene had a macabre comedy to it, and were it not for the smell of old blood and decaying flesh, might have been hilarious.

Holding their noses in slight disgust, they snuck past the open door, slipping silently down the hall to the room where the archery club had their indoor shooting range. Ducking into the range, Adam watched the door as Daniel began to rummage through the lockers, looking for any equipment one of the members might have left behind. Watching the corridor, Adam looked on as _they_ staggered aimlessly through the halls, their mouths leaking blood, eyes gone grey and glassy with disease.

"How do you think this happened?" whispered Adam as he inched the door closed shut.

"What'd you mean?" mumbled Daniel, his head halfway into a locker.

"Well, how do you think we ended up with a zombie virus? Some mad scientist created a virus that mutated and began infecting people? A crazy clown fed cow meat to other cows and made a hamburger of the cannibal cows resulting in an unholy creation so foul that the consumers became mindless drones of destruction?"

Daniel snorted, "Probably some psychotic Russian mad scientist holdover from the Cold War. That or China decided this was the next thing they wanted to put in child's toys."

"I don't think so. Going from putting led in toys for small children and using poisonous paint to implanting a killer zombie virus is kind of a big step. I don't think China's hardcore enough to do that. Not evil enough."

"What then? AIDS mutation? Mad cow? Wrath from God?"

"Wrath from God?" asked Adam incredulously, "I thought you were radically atheist."

Bringing his head out from the locker, Daniel pulled out a large, curved compound bow painted in military forest camo. Five arrows came with the bow, the only remaining equipment left. "I am, but you know most people. Half of the world is going to say this is the wrath from God, or Allah, or Yahweh, or whatever omnipotent 'big brother' you believe in. The other half is probably going to believe that it's all the government's fault."

Adam sighed, saddened by the stupidity of the majority. Daniel was right though, any religion worth anything would cash in on this as a way to 'save the masses,' probably through mass conversion. Even Scientology would try to cash in, using any excuse to spread their insanity. Probably call it an alien plague sent to destroy mankind or something. Wondering what effect this would have politically, Adam realized he did not envy those politicians who were in office during this. Each and every one would be held responsible for what had happened, especially the president.

"Poor Obama," Adam muttered as he helped Daniel gather the archery gear, "He's been trying to fix the mess Bush left for him, he just got the Nobel Peace Prize, and a zombie virus gets released. That is really going to suck as a track record."

Hefting the equipment, the two opened the door silently, sneaking up the stairs to avoid the zombie horde. Closing the staircase door behind them, they returned to the lobby, only to find that the rest of the group and already arrived, each one bearing a gym bag filled with supplies from food to a fire extinguisher to toiletries.

"Everyone ready?" asked Adam, doing a quick headcount. Finding sixteen survivors, they moved to the double doors in the front of the lobby. "Okay guys, we're going to make a run for a bus so we can get up to somewhere more defensible. Bring whatever you have, and let's get out of here!"

Stepping out the front door, Daniel crushed the head of a nearby zombie as Adam pulled out the bow and arrows. Pulling back and aiming well over the top of the nearby covered bike-rack, Adam let go, watching as the arrow flew through air, soaring over the hedges – only to hear it clatter against the pavement.

"You gotta _hit_ a car man. We need that distraction now!" said Daniel nervously, seeing some of _them_ begin to move towards them.

Adam readied a second shot, this one having no more of an effect than the first, although the scream from the other side of the lot meant he had hit something. Kissing the third arrow for luck, Adam pulled back the bow to its fullest extent, aimed, and fired, the arrow following a perfect parabolic curve up and down into the parking lot where it lodged itself in the windshield of a black SUV. Immediately, the alarm began to blare, the zombies following the sound of the noise to its source, eager to find another meal. Pulling out the second-to-last arrow, Adam set it to the string, then led the others forward, shooting a zombie that appeared from behind the bushed directly between the eyes. Readying his last shot, Adam rounded the corner, his bow coming up to fire point-blank at a zombie that had strayed behind. Dropping the bow, he switched to his _bokken_ as he moved forwards, leading the group through the motor pool, making their way to the nearest campus bus. Finally seeing one, Adam forced the door open as the others waited for any remaining victims. Finding none of the infected, they piled in, pulling the door shut as they began to make their way deeper into the heart of the university.


	3. Katya: Fear, Megan: Shock

**Chapter Two: Katya/Megan – **_**Fear**_

I have seen Brandt keep a journal like this – he says it is for 'posterity,' a record of what has happened to us. I still wonder if anyone will ever read these notes, or if I will, one day, flip through these pages, remembering how we managed to survive this apocalypse. Or perhaps, if this small, blue, composition notebook I pulled from a half-demolished supply store will instead find its resting place lying, blood-splattered, next to my bones. Or worse, dragged along behind me as a testament to a life once lived, as my soulless corpse hunts the living. Adam claims it is impossible for this to be a curse, or damnation; that it is more likely an experiment gone wrong or a virus mutation. He has even called it _Super-Aids_, a reference to some long-gone television show. But there is only one name for the world in which we now live. My name is Katya. I am a survivor. And this is Hell.

The infection began a year ago, and so, my recollections shall too. It is hard to remember a time when leaving the house did not involve checking ammunition and provisions, when the only time teenagers told each other to keep it quiet was when having sex in the back of a parent's car and getting an education did not involve field-stripping a submachine gun. Those days seem as though they belong to another girl, one who does not have blood caked under her fingernails as she writes and who could not imagine forgetting the feel of a bath. It is amazing what one can learn to live without, when one has no choice in the matter. However, to understand who I am now, I should tell you who I once was.

My name was Katya Belikov. I almost laugh as I write that. It is amusing to remember a time when there were enough people that surnames mattered. That the way one defines oneself can change so suddenly . . . but I digress. I was a highschool girl. I was a straight - A student. I was a track team member, an avowed political independent, an animal rights supporter, a vegetarian, a virgin. Most of all, the one thing that seemed to define me was that I was the daughter of an agent in the FBI.

I assume it is much like being the daughter of a cop: the boys you like are scared your father will shoot them if they bring you home past curfew, your mother worries slightly more than usual when he works late nights, and he always has excellent excuses for missing your school play. I mention this so when I say that, on the day that hell opened up and swallowed the world whole, my father and I had an argument about him 'happening' to be cleaning his gun when my date came to pick me up the night before, you will understand why.

We were sitting at home when we heard the news; my parents, my little sister, and me, all gathered around the TV to watch the newest episode of whatever 'hit' contest reality show was 'in' that season. Halfway through one judge's sarcastically cruel yet amusing criticism, my father's phone went off – the special office phone he only ever used on 'official business.' Pausing the TiVo, I remember waiting impatiently, irritated by the constant interference of his work on my life. Even worse when he came back in, jacket half-on, gun holstered. Not bothering to ask, my mother stood there, arms folded, that one-eyebrow-raised expression she got whenever she resigned herself to my father's late-night calls.

Grimacing sympathetically, he finished pulling his jacket on, straightening the lapels as he explained. "Some sort of riot's going on downtown. Local PD should be able to handle it, but the top's called us in for backup if needed." Kissing her on the cheek, he gave her that 'I'm sorry my job has me whipped' look that he pulled everytime this happened, making sure to shout "Make sure not to delete that!" on his way out the door. Sighing, my mother went into the kitchen, her therapeutic need to cook when stressed manifesting itself in a sudden desire to make what later turned out to be two pre-made dinners and a plate of brownies. Which, I recall, were delicious.

Nothing matches the sheer horror of finding yourself trapped in a room with zombies closing in, and finding that the door can't be locked. To be honest, I think that was the first moment I realized that this wasn't just some threat to national security, this wasn't the fear of gang violence or of a terrorist attack – this wasn't something you could rationalize away by saying "Oh, that happens out _there_. It won't happen to me." Zombies don't care if you're White or Black, Asian or Hispanic, rich or poor. Shakespeare was right, we're all equal in death. To be honest though, they _do _get the fat ones first, so physical aspects do come into play. That's _his_ Second Rule: Stay in Shape.

It was at that point where we were rummaging through the shop classroom, looking for something – _anything –_ we could use against _them,_ when I realized what the rest of our lives were going to be like. At our age, you normally have the teacher telling you to "Stop screwing around," and here we were, cobbling whatever we could grab into some sort of barricade. I have no idea how long it took us - it felt like hours, though it was probably a only a couple minutes – but we'd managed to pile up a group of benches against the door before _they_ began to slam into it from the other side, the force knocking us both back. Falling back, I felt my head slam into something, causing my head to spin, lights flashing behind my eyes. Turning to see what I'd hit, I found I'd slammed into the edge of one of those platforms that house the mounted saw blades used to saw apart planks of wood. As one, Brandt and I flipped it on its side, heaving until it finally fell over, making sure the power cord that connected it to the wall was still plugged in. Grabbing a rolling platform used to move piles of supplies, we mounted the saw up on top of it, the blade held horizontal at head height. Wheeling it in front of our barricade, Brandt stood, waiting, his hand poised over the starter, ready to hit as soon as _they_ came through the door.

Bursting through, the wood of the barricade shattered as one of _them_ came through the door. Slamming the button down, the saw roared into life, shredding the zombie in half. Pushing the mounted saw forward, we kept going forwards, shearing any zombie unlucky enough to get near – which, by their nature, was all of them. Coming out into the hall, we could just hear the pounding of feet over the hum of the saw blade. Twirling the saw-shield, we turned just in time to slam the side of the blade into an oncoming zombie, slivers of bone shooting form his skull as the blade ground across it, tearing the skin from his face. Brandt claims I screamed then, but all I can remember is the metallic shriek of the saw as it ripped the former janitor's head in two. There are few sights as gruesome as seeing a man you had known, having his face ripped in half, his jaw held on by a single tendon as blood, flesh, and bone spatter through the air. Driving the saw into him, we continued down the hall, using the saw blade to shred anything that came near us. Making it to the end of the hall, I felt the machine pull back as we tried to push it forwards, the power cord pulling against the wall. Pointing it in the opposite direction, we shoved it down the hall like a motorized guillotine, hoping it would behead anything that came from behind us. Hurrying down the stairs, we slammed into the cafeteria doors, only to find them locked from the inside.

Pounding on the door, I yelled "Is anyone in there? Please, open up." Hearing movement, we hammered harder, trying to get their attention. "Come on. We're not one of _them_. Just let us in!"

Finally the door slid open a crack, showing one eyes as someone peered through, before closing quickly. Heating conversation mumbled from the other side of the double doors before they finally opened. "Come in. Quick," said a sandy-haired, pimpled junior I'd seen on the basketball team. Almost jumping through the door, we found ourselves in what apparently used to be our cafeteria. Where there had been door-to-ceiling windows, students were barricading the walls shut, covering the glass with folding lunch tables in an attempt to keep _them_ from getting in. Students milled about uncertainly, some of joining in on the preparations, others searching for friends and siblings.

Brandt stepped eagerly into the safety of the room, but ten steps in, I felt myself freeze in sudden realization. Scanning the crowd, I felt dread sweep over me, fighting the rush of adrenaline still coursing from our flight.

"What's wrong?" Brandt asked, a confused expression on his face.

"You see a single adult here?" I replied, my mouth dry.

"You surprised? I mean, there's like thirteen hundred students and five hundred faculty. Odds were, more of us would make it out than them."

"That's not why I'm worried. Ever read _Lord of the Flies_? Theme is, without a moralistic government, you end up with society regressing into barbarism. That's why there's public school. Teachers act as proxies for parents by instilling children with morals that society deems 'right.'"

"So without teachers, we're all going to go crazy, worship pagan gods, and eat each other?"

I grimaced, "Maybe not eat each other."

"Splendid," he growled, "Look, if things get bad here, we can make a break for the parking lot. With enough time, I should be able to figure out how to boost a car."

"You know how to hotwire a car?" I looked up at him incredulously.

"Hey, everyone, listen up," boomed a voice from behind us. Turning, I saw James Northrup, student body president and resident jock-nerd trying to get attention. Behind him filed the entire ASB, looking oddly well-kempt when compared to the general state of disarray the rest of the assembled students. While everyone else looked like they'd just gone to gym class in their regular clothes, these guys looked like they'd had a chance to freshen up in the mirror before coming here.

"I know there's a lot of confusion over the lockdown, especially since the teachers aren't here at the moment," James started, his calm tone sounding just a little forced in what sounded like a pre-written and approved speech. "Right now the best thing is to stay away from the windows and doors, stay quiet, and stay calm." He'd barely finished when a storm of angry shouting emerged from the gathered students, most objecting about how it had been those same teachers who'd gone after them.

Over the din, I heard someone call my name. Turning, I spotted Marc Fontaine, one arm raised in greeting. Marc was one of those guys that everybody liked – his dancer's build and talent for being impeccably dressed, coupled with the curly brown hair that tumbled rakishly into his eyes, would have made him one of the most sought-after guys in the school. Were it not, of course, for the well known fact that he 'batted for the other team.' As it was, Marc was a perfect fit for the stereotypical 'gay friend,' and I was glad that he'd managed to make it out alive – despite the fact that, compared to his clean, inexplicably unrumpled clothing, I looked like a serial killer, my own clothes splattered with blood and other things best left to the imagination. Really, it just wasn't fair.

"Looks like you two managed to make it out fine."

"Barely," Brandt grunted, picking at a hole in his sweatshirt. "Ran into god-knows-what on our way here."

Marc frowned, his eyes worried. "I got lucky. I'm coming out of the theater, and the next thing I know alarms are going off and lockdown doors are closing. To be honest, I still don't really know what's going on."

Brandt let out on almost-laugh then, a sound somewhere between humor and hysteria. "What's going on is that we're in the middle of a zomb – "

"Don't," I cut him off. "This isn't some horror flick or bad video game. We can't . . . we can't . . . ."

It was Brandt then who took me into his arms, holding me tight as I lost myself in the horror of what had happened. I don't know how long it was, but we just stood there, Marc looking on sympathetically, me sobbing silently into a blessedly blood-free section of Brandt's shirt. Finally pulling myself away, I wiped my eyes, shame mixing with the constant state of fear I'd been in since Barness' class.

"I'm sorry, I . . ."

"It's shock," Marc answered helpfully, a comforting hand resting on my shoulder. "All this – it's just too much at once."

An awkward silence came over us, me still wiping my eyes, Marc's hand a welcome reminder of reality, as Brandt just stood there, his face blank. Maybe Marc was right. There was no way to describe what'd just happened, no reason to expect myself to be able to handle it. Still, I was never the kind of girl to just break down and cry, and as that shameful ache settled in, I looked away, as if that would erase my moment of weakness.

Clearing his throat, Marc broke the silence. "How long do you think we'll last in here? Before the police come," he added quickly, as if to reassure us that help would actually come.

"At least we're in the same area as the cafeteria," Brandt answered, apparently as eager as me to change the subject. "We won't starve. Or resort to cannibalism," he added, half-joking.

"How long though?" Marc murmured, his voice suddenly softer as he glanced around. "Whatever 'food' we have stored here won't last forever – and then we'll have to leave. Or starve."

"We'll stay." There was no point in leaving until we had a better idea of what we'd need to get somewhere safer, and I was in no shape to face those _things_ again – that last few minutes had proven that. "At least until the food runs out. Then we'll need to find somewhere to hole up until everything quiets down."

"Until the food runs out," Brandt repeated.

As the light faded, the three of us watched the rhythmic motion of the barricade, the methodic thumping lasting long after the sun had faded from the sky.


	4. Adam: The Charge

_Author's Note: Sorry for the short length of the chapter, especially after the long wait. I toyed with making another double POV like last time, but it ruined the flow._

_The wait for the next chapter will be much shorter._

**Chapter Three: Adam – **_**The Charge**_

"I thought you said you could hotwire this thing!"

"Yeah, well, a bus is different from a Camry! Give me a sec."

_Come on David, _Adam thought, his grip tightening on his bokken as _they_ pounded against the buss windows and doors. Grabbing onto one of the support poles, Adam wondered if, with all this rocking, David was going to be able to hotwire the bus at all. _Heh, I guess this is how it feels to be inside a bus that gets tipped, _he mused, his humor refusing to die.

"Got it!" David nearly shouted, before the bus lurched to a start, throwing some of the others back as they took off, slamming into a few of the maniacs on their way. Adam held onto the pole for dear life as the bus careened onto the main road leading back up into campus, the tires skidding as David slammed the brake. _I should never let him drive. I should never let him drive!_ Thrown back into a seat as the bus turned, Adam felt the metal backing of the seat slam into his back as the tires screamed from the abuse, before finding traction on the blood-stained asphalt and barreling up into campus. One or two cars whizzed by in the other direction as they sped by the Communication buildings and took off towards the dorms.

Staring out the window, Adam found himself glancing at the McMahon dorm as they passed, looming large and grey against the still-blue sky. Odd, that the dorm said to be the best place to shelter from a zombie attack might just prove to be used as such. Maybe, after they got what food they could . . .

Suddenly, the bus rocked, jolting Adam from his reverie, complaints from the jostled passengers echoing as the vehicle lurched to a stop before the McCarty building.

"Everybody okay?" he yelled, rubbing his now-aching elbow.

Interpreting the occasional grumbles as a general assent, Adam turned to peer out of the bus windows, scanning the parking lot for any of the diseased. Luckily, the area around them was completely void of movement. The phrase 'still as a grave' came readily to mind.

_Even if none of _them_ made it up here yet, there still should be people coming in and out – it's a dorm for heaven's sake. _No matter what time of day, there were always a few students going back to their rooms after class or lounging around in front of the building, waiting for friends or just killing time. The fact that no one, not even one of the UW's very large squirrel population, was there, was an anomaly. Adam hated anomalies.

"We going in?" came David's voice from behind him. Turning, Adam found the older boy leaning heavily against the steering wheel, ignoring the occasional glares from his unappreciative passengers.

"As long as there aren't any broken bones from your driving, we should probably get moving," Adam replied caustically. Grinning, David slammed on the parking brake, grabbing his capoeira sticks as he stood from the raised driver's chair.

"A'ight everyone! Stop complaining and grab your stuff. We don't have time to sit around whining. The dead are walkin', and we need to get a move on. It's zombie-killing time."

Adam frowned at his long-time friend, worried that the computer-science major might be enjoying this a little too much. "Zombies? Really? For all we know this could be a case of super-rabies. Hell, maybe it's Man-Bear-Pig disease."

Keeping his characteristic smirk, David stepped down onto the curb, rattan sticks held loosely in both hands.

"All boils down to the same thing. They're mindless and homicidal, and I don't wanna die."

"Fair enough," Adam sighed, hefting his bokken onto his shoulder as they filed out of the bus, everyone checking over their shoulders, almost as if expecting madmen to appear out of the ground or descend from the trees.

"Alright. Damon, Shaun, Erin; you three watch the rear, make sure we have warning in case anything comes up behind us." Turning to the rest of the group while the three he had named moved to the back, Adam nearly froze. _Just what am I doing? What are we getting ourselves into._ Swallowing, he continued, "Kendo and kung-fu guys, watch the sides, and stay close. Aikido and ju-jitsu, help where you can, but make sure not to get hurt. Everyone else, stay towards the center, and don't get in the way. We don't know what the rules are when dealing with these things, better to be safe than sorry."

"I'll take the lead," called David, already moving towards the ever-open front doors.

Groaning, Adam gestured to two of the kung-fu guys – _That one's Joshua, but who's the other kid? –_carrying staffs. Grinning, Joshua took off after David, followed somewhat reluctantly by the other boy.

His bokken at the ready, Adam stepped into the oddly quiet entry hall, noticing immediately the steel gate pulled down over the reception desk, and the occasional blood splatters on the ground. Even over the blood, Adam could smell the windex and commercial cleaner remaining from the day's custodial work. Stepping around the caution sign left sitting in the middle of the hall, the group moved through the floor, checking for any of _them._ Confident that the central floor was clear, Adam signaled for the mass of kids to stay, taking three of them down the staircase into the Internet Café downstairs. Wooden sword raised, Adam was about to step into the café proper when footfalls started to echo from inside. Freezing, Adam waved for the others to stay back, moving to place himself at the front of the group. Holding his breath for fear of being heard, Adam moved his sword into jo-dan, before leaping towards the noise, sword flashing.


	5. Adam: Mistakes

_Author's Note: And we're up._

**Chapter Four: Adam – **_**Mistakes**_

"Look, I said I was sorry."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't fix the _crack_ in my _skull, _now does it?"

"And you shouldn't be shuffling around at a time like this!" Adam snapped, glaring at David while Erin finished bandaging the really quite small crack in his skull. Luckily for him, Adam had managed to pull back most of his blow, having only the tip of the wooden sword tap the other boy's head. Unfortunately, that had been enough to set David's ears ringing, and now Adam was receiving the brunt of his anger.

Luckily for the students, it had turned out that McCarty was completely deserted, of both people and infected. In order to keep it that way, the group had been barricading all the windows in sight, and destroying most of the electronic locks on the doors. It would be bad for anyone trying to get in, but it would also keep people from accidentally letting in a cannibal, and Adam had decided that it was a sacrifice they would have to make. He'd still asked people to stay near the most common entry points so uninfected could be let in if needed. After walling up the windows, the main group had assembled down at Ian's Café, looking over the generous supplies they now had.

"If we're out of complaints from that corner, I'd like to get on with this." Adam stood, getting the attention of the assembled students. "Look, we have almost no idea what's going on. So, for now, the best thing to do is to hunker down. There are backup keys in the main office. Use those, and pick a room. If anyone happens to actually live here . . ." a few hands were raised, "then you can obviously take your own rooms. I'd like to keep us all as close together as possible, that way, we'll have more people together if we need to run. In the meantime, we need to count how much food we have, so we can ration it appropriately. We still have running water, so anyone who wants a shower, now would be a good time to get one."

Turning back to Erin, Adam continued. "Erin, I'd like you to take a couple people and go through the food. Check for expiration dates – we need to eat the stuff that'll go bad first."

David nodded, then grimaced. "We should check the news, try to get a handle on what's going on.

"Not a bad idea. You take care of it."

"Wait, what are you gonna do?"

Adam smiled satisfactorily. "Take my own advice. I need a shower."

Ignoring David's curses, Adam took the stairs up to the main floor two at a time, before heading down the hall into the room that actually belonged to him. Grabbing a towel, Adam immediately headed to the floor showers, slamming the water to hot before thrusting his head under the spray. Shaking strands of blond hair out of his eyes, he leaned back against the wall of the shower, letting the tension that had caused him to nearly debilitate one of his best friends drain out of him. He'd seen the movies, as soon as people started panicking, that was when they turned on one another. If he could just keep everyone calm and relaxed, maybe they could wait out whatever this was in peace. Plus, with all the food, maybe they could last longer than most. With several vending machines, a small store, and who knows how many refrigerators stocked with who-knows-what, they'd probably be able to outlast a quick siege, if they had to.

_Plus, if they _are_ zombies, then all we have to do is wait till winter. Frost hits, they freeze, and we go zombie-hunting. Course, if they're just crazy, then we'll just have to hope they starve. Wonder if they'd eat each other if it came to it. _Shaking his head to get rid of such morbid thoughts, Adam tried to think back, reaching for something, anything that could tell him what might happen. As long as he could anticipate problems before they happened, they would be fine.

Rubbing the shampoo into his hair, Adam was startled to find that the first thing to mind was tenth grade English. _Lord of the Flies_. _So wait, if that makes the zombies the Beast, what's the Lord?_ Course, most of what he could remember from the novel was that people went cabin crazy, even on island that could be called paradise, and that fear was a powerful motivator. _Maybe if I'd had a better teacher I would have cared enough to actually pay attention to the book. Those boys . . . that's it. The group on the island was all boys. So, what, having girls in our group will make us less likely to go crazy and worship a pig carcass?_

Course, add the normal college proclivity towards sex and the adrenaline and desperation inherent in their situation, and Adam would be surprised if there weren't a couple people 'getting lucky' tonight. _And if they go too far? Add in a pregnant woman on top of everything else we have to deal with, and I might just prefer the zombies._ He wished David hadn't called them that. Now even he was doing it. _At least Ian's has a supply of condoms, and with luck, they'll all realize that we're not likely to have access to any medication beyond Advil and cough syrup._ _On that note, we should see what medical supplies we have. Bandages, and stuff. _

Scrubbing the day's worth of sweat from his face, he stood under the pulsing water, letting his mind go blank for the first time since they'd left the IMA. Breathing slowly, he felt his heart slow from the breakneck pace it had been keeping. _If we still have TV or the internet, we should see if we can get some movies or shows. May not be the best time, but it'll relax people a bit. The more normalcy we have, the better._ Suddenly he remembered the copy of _Shaun of the Dead_ currently sitting on his dorm room shelf. Unable to control himself, he burst out laughing, a combination of macabre humor and hysteria making the coincidence much funnier than it would otherwise be. Gasping for air, Adam clawed at the shower knob, cutting off the flow of water. Still chuckling, he toweled himself off before shrugging his clothes back on. _If the water lasts long enough, we really should see about doing some laundry._

Emerging from the bathroom, he nearly slammed into Erin and Shaun as they bolted down the hall.

"You need to see this," Erin said, oddly unnerved. For a girl who could beat most of the guys in the building in a fair fight, it was odd to see her so disturbed. Following the two, Adam continued toweling his hair dry, letting the damp towel rest on his head rather than soak his clothes. Climbing the outer staircase, they came up to one of the now-disabled side doors to McCarty South tower. Looking out through the small window, Adam was surprised to find a young man leaning heavily on the door, clearly out of energy from running. Sweat pooled around his eyes and neck, his hair was plastered to his forehead. Seeing Adam, he began to hammer incessantly on the heavy metal door.

"Oh, god, let me in dammit, let me in!"

"I assume you saw the . . ." Adam stalled, unsure of what to say. Trying to remain calm, he changed what he was about to say. "You've seen the infected."

"Of course I saw them! There a swarm of those _things_ over on the Quad."

Breathing steadily, Adam forced his heart rate down. Wouldn't do to let the others see him panic. "Did they touch you?"

The young man slammed his fists against the door, leaving stains where his knuckles bled against the glass. "No, I got away from them. Please, I'm begging you, just let me in."

Adam took one final look at the boy. He couldn't leave a person out there to die, and if he did, his credit with the group would be shot. He would be the cold monster who left a kid to the mercy of those things. Course, if he let the kid in, and he was infected, they could all go down. Swearing, Adam slammed the door's latch bar open, letting the cold fall air flood the stairwell. The kid scampered into the relative safety of the building before collapsing against the wall. Panting, he leaned his head back, exhaustion finally winning out over fear and adrenaline.

"Erin, patch him up. Then lock him in a room with a window. It'll be temporary – call it a necessary quarantine. We can't afford to take any chances right now. A few days oughta tell us if he's infected or not."

"And if he is?" she asked, a hint of anxiety creeping into her voice.

"I don't know. We don't know enough about what we're facing. If he's fine, then we just need to fix the ration schedule. If not, then . . . we'll do what we have to."

"You'd kill him?" she asked, unable to connect the barbarity of necessity to life _before_.

"Eventually, we'd have to." And with that, Adam left. Hoping that this would be the last time he'd have to decide who would live, and who would die.


End file.
